


Footnotes

by Hedgi



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-22
Updated: 2016-10-22
Packaged: 2018-08-24 01:18:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8350681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedgi/pseuds/Hedgi
Summary: Minifics from tumblr prompts. occasionally featuring crossovers.





	1. Feather brain

It wasn’t supposed to be a difficult mission. Retrieve something Jenkins had called the “Dancing Water” from some long lost Italian villa, find out why everyone in history had gone after it had vanished, come back.  But the second Jacob had entered the little garden, after getting past the guards, ancient stone lions that kept blinking, he had stopped. Surely it was all right just to look, for a moment. The fountain bubbled and splashed up, each droplet hanging for too long to be natural.  Nearby was a silvery looking tree, the branches like a wind chime. As he stepped closer, a flash of emerald caught his eye, and a weight landed on his shoulder. A bird.

“Jacob Stone,” the bird said, green feathers glittering. “Hello.”

Jacob remembered the scrap of fairytale Jenkins had insisted was true, and kept his mouth shut.

“Rude, rude, rude, no wonder you’re here all alone,” the bird chattered. “Thought you’d talk to me, at least, always giving orders, never listening, just talking, talking, never saying anything that hasn’t been said already.”

Jacob ignored the bird, reaching the water’s edge, reaching down with a flask. The water flowed into the bottle, sloshing merrily against the sides.

“No one really wants to be around you, you know, the world would be much nicer if you just stayed here. Your family doesn’t care, and look at your friends, you drive them away and away, and away, thinking you’re so much better, never putting in the effort to work as a team, not you, not the great—what’s it you call yourself? To many names, and why, to hide? No, no, to keep yourself above those who know you, can’t stand to be associated with—“

“Shut up,” Jacob growled, clenching the flask hard enough it might have cracked, had it not turned to stone as he was.

~~ ** ~~

Cassandra timed the Lions, the blinks, like a dance, closed, open, closed, open, they never looked when a leaf fell, never looked except tilted their head, eyes closed tight, tight, tight against the sun, when some noise drew their attention. Lions. Cats had better night vision than humans, better dilation in pupils better made for—they couldn’t see with their eyes open, only listened. When Jacob didn’t come back, she squared her shoulders, lifted her sack, and started into the garden.

The water gurgled in the fountain, harmonizing with the tree nearby, the musical tree, fifths, it was playing fifths, C, G, G, C,  Pythagorean tuning, the wolf fifth is really just a sixth, wolves howl, but not in fifths, not really, pack, family—breakfast, Sunday morning, Bach playing on the radio, burned bacon and cheese and eggs frying—

Cassandra shook her head hard, waiting for the spell to pass, trying to let it end because fighting through only made it last longer. She filled a flask, then two more just to be safe, and started back. A bird flitted through the trees, bushtit, small, brown, and there, hummingbirds, blood throat, green backs, Annas hummingbirds flit, flit, flitting, hummingbird were small but fierce, Xiuhpilli the Aztec god of the Sun was often depicted as a hummingbird Jacob had told her that Jacob hadn’t come back—

Something landed on the arm she had outstretched to sort through the thoughts, a heavy green bird.

“Cassandra, Cassandra, Cassandra,” the bird chirped. “You know they sent you here to die. Betray them once, maybe again, they’ll never trust you, so they send you on the risky mission, let you do the hard work, so they won’t have to—“

“No, you’re wrong, they would—“ she realized what she had done as her ankles turned to stone. Marble. Metamorphism of limestone, used for buildings, statues, statues, Franzoni’s Clio, David, _Gruppo del Laocoonte,_ stone, solid, unmoving.

~~ ** ~~

Ezekiel leaned against the tree, bored. Stay behind, Jones, they’d said. If we don’t come back get help, they’d said. He was the thief, honestly, he should be the one going in there and stealing the water. He sprang to his feet, skirted around the wall, and found a nice little opening.

The fountain was easy enough to find. Easier still were the others, and presumably everyone else who’d tried and failed. Statues, marble statues, every one of them. Some looked wealthy, stone rings and even crowns, others looked less so. Cassandra still had her hands out. Stone still held the vial that had to have water in it. Ezekiel took a deep breath, then plunged his water bottle into the fountain. He’d read a few fairytales, ever since the Jack incident. The water was magic, so splashing some on his friends should probably help. Probably. Unless the magic water damaged the stone. He could try it out on a random statue first, then. One of the old guys that had been here for centuries, or something.

As he moved toward a cluster near a pear tree with low hanging branches, a bird landed on the statue’s head, blinking at him. Ezekiel opened his mouth to shoo it away, and remembered Jenkin’s advice. He shut his mouth with a click.

“Ezekiel Jones,” the bird cooed. “Here you are. Going to take the water for yourself, hmm? Leave your friends to die? No, no, but you can’t save them. Not this time. Not good enough.You never were. Not good enough for your mother. Not good enough to keep MI6 from blaming you for every little child’s mistake. Couldn’t save them, couldn’t save yourself, just cause so much more trouble then you’re worth.”

Ezekiel’s cheeks flushed hot but he took a deep breath, and did not spill the water. Out of time, Jake—Stone was closer. He’d have to risk it. They had to get out. The stupid bird didn’t know what it was talking about.

“Do you ever wonder if you’d be better off without them?” the bird asked, fluttering closer to land like a heavy hand on his shoulder. “No one to stop you from doing what you like, keeping gold and glory ? No? Well, then, what if your allies would be better off without you? If someone else, someone better had gotten that letter, someone braver, someone stronger, someone with a better heart? Do you ever wonder that, Zeke? If the world would be better off without you?”

Ezekiel fumbled the cap off the bottle, trying to shake the bird off as he did. _Of course not_ he thought savagely as he splashed the faces of his friends and held his breath.


	2. spilled ink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> crossover with the Flash

“Everyone knows printers can smell fear, this isn’t news,” Cisco told the other cornered patron at the little  electronics store.

“Uh, mate, this isn’t exactly a normal printer,” the guy—Jones?—sounded a bit too haughty for Cisco’s liking, especially since the metaprinter (how the hell???) or whatever was controlling the printer (????) had jammed coms and Cisco wasn’t about to out himself as Vibe in a shop he frequented, in front of people he didn’t trust further than he could throw them (sans superpowers).

“I’ll distract it,” he offered, again.   
Jones shook his head. “I’ll distract it, you hide.   
“Really, I got this,” Cisco nodded at the door.  
“It’s all good, thanks all the same, but I can handle it.”  
”You’re a civilian” the both said at once.

“Ok, hold up, who are you?” Cisco asked.

“Um…Ezekiel Stone, Librarian? Look, I know magic is kind of—wait. You seem considerably less freaked out than you really should be.”

“I dated a reincarnated Hawk goddess last fall,” Cisco shrugged. “Magic’s a thing. So this isn’t just, like a metahuman? Thank God, if it was a meta that would really mess everything up.”

“A printer’s eating people. I think you need to fix your priorities.”

“You just said this was your job, c’mon, let’s end this thing, why are we wasting time?”

“Fair point. What you got in mind? Don’t answer that, I already have an Idea, you’ll go to the entrance and—“

The printer struck, paper tray closing on the air where Jones’ hand had been. Cisco reacted, blasting the thing away. It fell on its side, twitching feebly.

“No printer messes with Ezekiel Jones,” the librarian started kicking it until it was a scattering of plastic parts and ink seeping into the worn carpet.

“I think you killed it.”

“I think I did.” Jones beamed then corrected himself. “Fine, fine, I think _we_ killed it. That was some nifty, y’know.” He mimed Cisco’s hand motions, making little laser gun noises. “You should proooobably go.”

“Ah, no, you should, though. My team will be here for clean up, try to figure it all out.”

“Mine too. Wanna ditch? I heard that place Jitters sells cronuts.”

Cisco weighed carpet clean up with cronuts.

“…on the other hand,,. if it’s magic, your team’s better equipped to deal with it. I know a short cut.”


End file.
